Chapter 7 #2
That’s fine. Better he fixate on me than on her.
“You’re crossing a line with me,” she says, stronger this time. “And you’re embarrassing me. Go home.”
“Home?” He barks out a bitter laugh. “What home? You got the home. The house you sold. Then you took back your last name and bought this cabin. The only thing I got is overdraft fees and a car they’re probably gonna repo any damn day now.”
“And that,” I say, “is why she signed the papers. If you were a good man, she wouldn’t have signed shit.”
His head whips toward me.
The vein in his forehead stands out. His hands curl into fists. For a second, I can see him making the decision.
He’s going to swing.
The world narrows. The night goes sharp around the edges. The old instincts come roaring up, fast and clean.
Distance. Angle. Weight. Momentum.
If he swings, I’ll see it coming a mile away. I’ll side-step, grab his wrist, put him on the ground slow or hard depending on how stupid he wants to be about it.
But then I feel Holley behind me shift. Hear the tiny hitch in her breathing.
She doesn’t need a brawl in her driveway. She doesn’t need cops and reports and neighbors peeking through curtains.
She needs this whole mess gone.
I need an exit. Fast.
A thought hits.
It’s reckless and half-formed and inappropriate.
But it’s clean.
Redirect attention. Reframe the situation. Give Eric a reason to back off that he can understand on his level: territorial bullshit and wounded pride.
Mission accepted: get the asset—Holley—out of immediate danger with minimal collateral damage.
“I’ve really had about enough of this,” I say, letting my boredom drip through my tone. Then I turn my head just enough to catch Holley’s eyes.
She looks startled, panicked, cheeks flushed from cold and humiliation. There’s an apology there, like she’s sorry this is impacting me.
I make a tiny movement with my chin. A silent question. You trust me?
Her lips part. She hesitates.
Then—barely, but it’s there—she gives the smallest nod.
That’s all I need. In the next heartbeat, I pivot.
I step into her space, one arm sliding around her waist, the other bracing against the side of her car.
Her eyes go wide. A tiny gasp escapes her.
“Tony—?” she starts, barely a whisper.
Too late.
I lower my head, my lips to hers, I kiss her.
I don’t make it gentle. I don’t make it violent either. I give it shape and intention: a claim, a story, a message.
Back off. She’s not available.
Her lips are soft and cold from the night air. She tastes faintly like the cheap coffee they sell at the gas station in town and maybe toothpaste from an hour ago. For a split-second she’s frozen, shocked, and I’m prepared to pull away instantly if she shoves me.
She doesn’t.
Her fingers fist in the leather at my sides, and then she makes this tiny sound in the back of her throat and shifts. Not much. Just enough.
Her mouth softens under mine, then her lips part, breath mingling with mine, chilly and sweet. It’s like she falls into the kiss on instinct, the way some people fall into a hug they didn’t know they needed until it was already happening.
Heat sparks low in my gut, unexpected and sharp.
Well, hell.
This was supposed to be a tactic.
Suddenly it’s something else too.
I push that thought away, keep my head in the game.
Our tongues dance like old friends happily reunited once again.
I tip the angle of my head, deepening the kiss just enough to sell it.
My hand tightens at her waist, thumb brushing the curve of her hip.
Her body presses against mine, curves fitting in ways that my brain absolutely does not have time to consider right now.
I hear Eric swear behind me.
Good.
Mission accomplished.
I keep the kiss going a second longer than necessary, because breaking away too fast makes it look staged. People believe what they see repeated, what’s drawn-out, not quick flashes.
Her fingers tighten on my jacket again, just for a moment, like she’s holding on.
I force myself to ease back.
We both breathe hard when our mouths separate, warm puffs of air mingling between us in the cold. Her eyes are enormous, pupils blown wide, lips a little swollen.
There’s confusion there. And something else.
“Damn,” I murmur, loud enough for Eric to hear, letting a slow, crooked grin pull at my mouth. “I’ve missed those lips.”
Her brows twitch up, surprised, but she doesn’t contradict me.
Behind me, Eric sputters. “What the—You—Who the hell are you to—”
I don’t look at him.
I keep my gaze on her, on the little pink flags blooming in her cheeks, on the way her breathing starts to settle.
Time to move.
“Let’s get inside and warm up, baby,” I say, making the endearment sound natural, long-practiced.
Before she can overthink, I reach down and thread my fingers through hers.
Her hand is small and cold in mine. She stiffens for a second, then squeezes back.
That’s our story, then.
I turn us toward the cabin like I’ve done it a thousand times before, like this is something we always do—argue outside, kiss, go in, shut the world out. Like Eric is nothing but an inconvenient stranger shouting into the wind.
I don’t give him a single glance as I lead her up the steps.
He swears again, voice cracking around the edges.
“Holley!” he shouts. “What the fuck was that? You seeing some old biker now? Seriously?”
I open the front door with my free hand like it’s my place, not hers, and usher her inside.
“Don’t forget to lock it behind me,” I say casually. I memorized the lock code from the reservation.
Even though we both know she’s the one who lives here.
She steps over the threshold, head ducking as if trying to make herself small.
I let go of her hand only when she’s clear and put my palm on the edge of the door.
Only then do I glance back at him.
He’s standing in the driveway, face blotchy red, fists clenched, chest heaving under his cheap jacket. He looks like the kind of man who’s used to being the center of his own universe, suddenly realizing he’s not even a blip on anyone else’s radar.
“Like I said,” I tell him, voice calm, cool. “This isn’t the time or place. She doesn’t owe you a damn thing out here.”
He opens his mouth to fire back, but I move to the door lock, entering the code, then the cabin, and shut the door before he gets a syllable out.
I flip the deadbolt with a solid, satisfying thunk.
Silence drops over the cabin like a blanket.
For a few seconds, all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart and the faint, thin edge of my breath. I’m suddenly aware of the heat of the place, the homey smell of pine cleaner and coffee, the wood tones of the walls and floor.
And Holley.
She stands a few feet inside the door, arms wrapped tight around herself, eyes fixed on the handle like she can still see right through it.
Her cheeks are flushed. Her chest rises and falls fast, like she just sprinted up a hill.
My body is aware of her. More than I’d like.
I scrub a hand over my chin, clearing my throat. “You okay?” I ask, voice a shade gruffer than usual.
She blinks like she’s just remembered I exist.
Her hand comes up to her lips, fingertips touching them, as if checking they’re still there. “What the hell was that?” she whispers more to herself than me.
Fair question.
“Exit strategy,” I explain. “He was ramping up. You were trapped. I needed to get you away from him without it turning into a full-scale brawl in your front yard.”
Her eyes snap to mine, wide. “So you kissed me?”
“Seemed like language he’d understand,” I share. “You got a new man; he backs off. Territorial bullshit. Male egos are fragile, baby. Cheaper than bail money.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again.
“You should’ve asked,” she says, but there’s no real heat in it. Just bewilderment. A flicker of humor, even. “Consent is kind of a thing.”
“Which is why I looked at you first,” I point out. “You nodded.”
She frowns, replaying. “I thought you were,” she pauses, “I don’t know what I thought you were doing.”
“Was gonna grab your hand and tell him you and I had plans inside,” I admit. “But then he moved in closer again, and I didn’t like his eyes. And you weren’t pushing me off, figured we could enjoy the moment.”
She shivers while nodding her head. “Okay, I didn’t hate the kiss. He’s just changed. He’s never been this volatile before.”
I lean my shoulder against the door, watching her.
She’s not fragile, this woman. That much is clear. She’s got a temper, a backbone, some steel under all the polite “please leave” she was trying to use on him. But that doesn’t mean she deserved to be cornered like that.
“You need me to call someone?” I ask. “Sheriff? Friend? Big brother with a baseball bat?”
One corner of her mouth twitches. “The sheriff already hates him. And my brother lives three states away.” She shakes her head, some of the color returning to her face. “No. Thank you. But no. I’ll handle it.”
“That your ex I gathered.” I state the obvious.
She nods, lips pressing tight. “Unfortunately.”
“He always just show up, yelling about his own bullshit?” I ask.
“Lately?” She laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
“You want me to talk to him man-to-man next time?” I ask. “Explain how it’s gonna go if he keeps pulling this crap.”
Her eyes flick to mine, searching. “Why would you do that?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Because I like my quiet. Because I don’t enjoy watching a woman get cornered in her own driveway. Because I’ve seen too many men like him in my life and I’m sick to death of their faces.”
Her stare holds mine for a long, tight second.
Then she exhales, shoulders slumping a little. “For what it’s worth thank you. For stepping in.”
“And for kissing you in front of your ex?” I ask with humor.
A flush spreads across her cheeks. Her gaze drops to my mouth for a half-second before she yanks it back up, flustered. “That was unnecessary, but I won’t complain.” She’s softening.